Wake Up, Mr President
by IBidYouAdieu
Summary: Six months after the shooting, Fitz has made a full recovery. But he may as well still be in a coma, because the love of his life has left him. He's a shell of his former self, constantly longing for Olivia. When he can't go on without her any longer, he devises a plan to make her understand what she's done to him, even if he has to make love to her all night to do it.
1. Chapter 1

_Hello! I've been away for a while. I promised myself I was done with fanfic for good, instead trying to focus on writing original stuff and continuing to develop my career as a copywriter...but then came Scandal._

_Good grief, I haven't been this obsessed with a show...with a romance so intense and powerful and perfect...portrayed by two formidable actors with such grace and skill...in a long, long time. I tried to battle the plot bunnies but I lost the fight, and so here is my very first contribution to the Olitz fandom._

_This is a slow burn of a mini-fic that I am toying with the idea of turning into a series of related stories, but that all depends on your response and my continued inspiration. And with the way the second half of Season 2 is going...I'll likely stay addicted (I MEAN __**ADDICTED**__) to these two for a while yet!_

_**Just a disclaimer:**__ I try to do research for my stories, but just know I'm def no expert and my knowledge is limited, but educated guesses and deductive reasoning get me through the sticky parts. If I got anything wrong about the world of Washington insiders and politics on Capitol Hill, let me know? Gently? Haha. _

_**SPOILER ALERT:**__ While this story is slightly AU (I've changes some things to suit the narrative), if you haven't seen any of the new episodes taking place after the shooting, be warned now. _

_I really, really hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Reviews are mightily appreciated!_

* * *

_**Wake Up, Mr. President**_

**One: We need our president back**.

Olivia held onto the cold cocktail glass so tightly that she was afraid she might break it at any moment. But she couldn't loosen her grip. If she did, her hand would shake.

If you knew Olivia Pope at all, you would understand that it was highly unusual for her to be this nervous. It wouldn't even take all of the fingers on one hand to count the things that could shake her. The look in Huck's eyes when he became _that other person_ who enjoyed killing, a gun being pointed in her face, realizing that her gut had led her astray…and…President Fitzgerald Grant III.

Only one of those four things had her sitting ramrod straight at a secluded booth in the prestigious Cadier Bar of the Grand Hotel in Stockholm.

They were negotiating the end of the conflict in Sudan. After spending weeks trying to avoid brutal, bloody and expensive war, Fitz was finally on the verge of seeing it all over with. Hopefully. And then last month in an unexpected, risky yet incredibly brilliant move Fitz decided to send in a Seal team to capture Kinyaze. And it worked. The last remaining leaders of the now severely fractured rebel army, along with the newly-elected Sudanese President Maysaa and his officials, had been summoned here for the final peace agreement talks.

President Grant and his Secretary of Defense, Army General, UN Ambassador and other key Cabinet members (including Cyrus Beene) were officiating. They were there to negotiate whether or not Kinyaze would be tried in American custody or be extradited, how long American troops would remain in Sudan (and how many) and the fate of the rebel leaders among other things. There was a lot of press, a lot to do, and it was the perfect cover.

It had been six months, seventeen days, twelve hours and fifty-seven minutes since she last saw him, lying unconscious in a hospital bed. Six months, fourteen days since Mellie told her to keep her distance for good.

Two weeks after that, he was awake. Cyrus had a heart and told her in person, calling her to his office and locking the door. He also told her that Mellie was moving him to Camp David and that no one (especially not Olivia Pope) would be allowed near him, with the exception of his doctors, Secret Service, children and Cyrus. She nearly lost her legs then-the elation she felt at hearing that Fitz was finally awake followed by the gut punch that was Mellie's determination to keep them apart almost knocked the wind out of her.

Cyrus had knelt beside her as she sank into one of his leather chairs and whispered contritely:

"I'm sorry, Liv. Mellie's made up her mind, she won't budge. She knows what it'll do to him...and she _knows_...what it's doing to you."

Olivia had been staring at the floor, but now her gaze moved slowly to meet his. He sighed.

"She wants it ended, you and him. As cruel as it is, I can't say I blame her. She wants her husband back. And we..._need_...our President back. We can't afford distraction or controversy in any wa-"

"I read you loud and clear, Cyrus." Olivia took a deep breath and stood up, not looking at him as she headed for the door. "It's for the best."

And from then on Olivia very, very carefully avoided letting any of it in too deeply. She concentrated on clearing Huck's name and hunting down "Becky" so that justice could be served. When that was over, she threw herself into her work at the White House, watching Langston's every move and keeping Cyrus' stress level down so that he was just mildly agitated most of the time instead of borderline irate. They never talked about Fitz beyond the bare essentials so she could carry on with her work.

Six and a half weeks after he woke up, he was cleared to return to the White House full time. His determination was nothing short of extraordinary. Despite the by now gargantuan desire in her to be there when he returned, Olivia made sure she was gone before he was officially reinstated.

She was so happy that he was alive, regaining his strength, and back in the White House. So happy that he proved his would-be assassin, Sally Langston and anyone else who doubted him wrong. But he was now just a man that she used to know, the President in the distance. Unknown. Unreachable. He wasn't hers anymore, and likely never would be again. The only way she knew to cope was to keep it carefully concealed, so that even she couldn't recognize it.

If he was on the news, she didn't watch. If someone was discussing anything involving the President (and they were; everyone was; he'd been shot in the head and was making a remarkable recovery from a coma) she tuned them out. If anyone asked her questions about it, she tried to be as vague as possible. And when she knew he was trying to reach out to her, she retreated.

And oh, _he tried._

She could feel his increasing desperation with every late night phone call, the things Cyrus wouldn't say, the sound bites that would sometimes surface in the news about how he was "more determined than ever to fight for what's really important" since being shot.

She pretended that he wasn't speaking English. That it was someone else's phone ringing. That Cyrus was just tired from a stressful job instead of tight-lipped because he agreed with the First Lady about keeping the two of them apart.

And that is how she lived her life, without him. She gave him up. Let him go. Closed her heart away, and kept it under lock and key. She lied to, blinded and tricked herself into thinking she was okay. Anything. _Anything_ to keep out the dark, gut wrenching sorrow.

It worked, for the most part. But there were casualties.

Edison asked her to marry him, again. And again, she turned him down.

Their relationship died a quick, silent death. There was nothing left to say. He realized finally that her heart belonged to someone else. And even though they never officially spoke of it, she had a suspicion that he knew he never really had a chance.

So life went on.

She was alone, and Fitz was nearing the end of his first term. These peace negotiations, capturing Kinyaze without resorting to months of conflict that resulted in more innocent people and American troops being slaughtered-and of course, his defiant recovery from an assassination attempt-would be the pillars of his re-election campaign. And she would not be a part of it.

She was alone, but she made damn sure that her business kept her far too busy to really let any of it sink in.

Until nearly eleven hours ago, when Tom and Hal showed up at her door.

When she opened it and saw that it was them, her heart dropped into her shoes. Despite her trepidation at what their visit could mean, she also found herself filling to the brim with hope.

"I thought the Kinyaze hearings were this week?" she asked skeptically, her brow furrowing. Translation: _I thought he was out of the country, safely away, and I'd get some peace for a few days?_

Sometimes she couldn't completely avoid the news. Tom gave an almost imperceptible nod.

"Yes ma'am."

She waited. They just stood there. Olivia sighed. "What can I do for you, gentlemen?"

"We've been instructed to ask you to accompany us, ma'am." Hal stated grimly.

"And do I get to know where you're taking me this time?"

They exchanged glances. That was a no, then.

So this was it. She had finally pushed him over the edge. Instead of her absence and silence forcing him to move on and let her go, it seemed he was now taking matters into his own hands. Her wishes be damned.

Her heart fluttering like a trapped, panicked bird in her chest, Olivia let them in.

"Miss Pope, we've also been asked to make sure you've packed an overnight bag." Tom said to her back, almost apologetically. She stopped in her tracks, anticipation running through her like an electric current. Olivia couldn't show them how nervous and hopeful she was. She simply nodded with her back to them and continued walking towards her bedroom.

Now she was sitting at the most prestigious hotel in Sweden, having been flown all the way to Stockholm on an unmarked private jet.

She'd been checked into a suite two levels down from the Penthouse floor. She got exactly ten minutes to freshen up and pace in circles around her ridiculously large bedroom suite before two more grim-faced Secret Service men (Brady and Rhodes, if she remembered correctly) arrived and handed her a plain white envelope marked only with the hotel seal.

Olivia swallowed hard and accepted the letter with shaking hands.

She closed the door behind her and leaned against it, not trusting her legs to carry her to the bed to sit down. For the longest time, Olivia simply stared down at it before opening it. She was inexplicably afraid of what she'd find. Finally, she inhaled and held her breath, deciding to just get it open and put herself out of her misery.

_**Brady and Rhodes will take you to a private booth downstairs at 11pm sharp. He needs to see you.**_

_**-Cyrus**_

She could sense the reluctance, the annoyance, the anxiousness wafting out of the letter like a noxious gas. He was sticking his neck out, going against his own convictions (not to mention risking Mellie's always inventive wrath)...and he was not happy about it.

For the first time in months, Olivia found herself genuinely smiling.

* * *

Olivia checked her watch. It was ten past eleven. She looked up to find Brady and Rhodes guarding her booth—one standing about five feet away against a wall and the other standing about three feet to her left, where the opening of the booth was.

There was draping separating her from the rest of the dining area and main bar, currently open so she could see the view from the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the dark waters of the harbour and Old Town beyond. She could also just make out the Royal Palace in the distance.

It was snowing lightly. The serenity of the scene served to calm her, somewhat.

She took another sip of her drink and decided to answer the third text message she'd gotten from Abby. _'Can't talk now, will call as soon as am able.'_

They knew she'd been summoned and they knew she couldn't return at the drop of a hat. She briefly wished she had suspended the unlimited international data plan in her contract for this trip. But there might be an actual emergency (Abby's rabid curiosity about Olivia's private life did not constitute an emergency, no matter what the high strung redhead might believe) and she'd regret it if she needed to work from abroad.

When Olivia looked up from sending the text, the Cadier was suddenly empty.

She got the most intense feeling of déjà vu, followed by anticipation so palpable that it was almost painful. She saw Hal first-_then in he walked_, followed closely by Tom.

The world dropped away, and there was only Fitz.

He was striding slowly across the room, his dark gray eyes locked on hers. His expression was that of intense determination. His body was drawn up to its full six feet, two inches. He was wearing a dark blue suit and blue tie with a crisp white button-down shirt. If it was possible, the shape of his muscles seemed even more defined under his clothes than ever. She knew that was a result of the physical therapy, but it didn't make the sight any less exquisite.

_And he was a sight to behold._ Just looking at him, she felt the pin-prick heat of arousal begin to creep its way through her body. Starting with her thighs, and spreading al the way to the tips of her nipples. Her lips parted; she let a tiny exhalation escape...as if to whisper _"damn..."_

Then she remembered herself, and swallowed back a mountain of emotion, trying to remain still.

The four Secret Service men had formed a perimeter around his path from the entrance of the bar to her booth. Olivia sat paralyzed, gazing at him wide-eyed and helpless as he made his way towards her. His focus was solely on her, and she felt as if she was being held in place by his gaze alone. As he got closer, she could see that he was holding his breath too; that he was also very carefully controlling his movements.

She understood why. It was the same reason she would not (could not) move a centimeter where she sat. She _wanted_ to jump from the table and throw herself into his arms. She _wanted_ to kiss every inch of his face-he was _alive_, and he was _still_ the President, and he had _summoned her here_.

But it wouldn't do for her to display the veritable volcano of emotion that coursed through her right now. So she waited. Watched him make his way towards her.

When he finally sat down across from her, there was a long, heavy silence. Finally he spoke; his voice as deep and rugged and _damn sexy_ as she remembered it. And she realized that she had been aching to hear it for months.

"Hi."


	2. Chapter 2

The events leading up to the meeting at the Grand, from Fitz/Cyrus POV.

* * *

_**Wake Up, Mr. President**_

**Two: A ravaged mess.**

Fitz hadn't seen Olivia Pope, the love of his life, in so long that he had by this point ceased to function like a normal man.

Instead he was a machine. He did physical therapy; he put in hours and hours of preparation for his return to the Oval; he studied every nuance of Langston's actions since he was shot. He powwowed with Cyrus until his throat was dry and his head was pounding, plotting his return. Because those things were automatic. Those things required him to be shrewd, analytical, ruthless, nearly emotionless. Outwardly, he was the President of the United States of America and he was taking his country back.

But inside...he was a ravaged mess.

Constantly..._constantly_...he longed for Olivia. He did not sleep. He did not speak unless he was forced to. He did not emote. It was as if he was sleepwalking, because she wasn't there when he came out of his coma. And she wasn't there when he took his first steps on his own. And she wasn't there when he was preparing to be seen in public for the first time since the shooting. She wasn't there when he woke in the middle of the night from nightmares, covered in a cold sweat. She wasn't there when he faced Vice President Langston to take his presidency back.

Olivia was nowhere to be found. So Fitz threw himself into his work. Built up his physical strength with almost obsessive intensity.

And with each day that he couldn't see her or hear her voice; with each call that she refused to answer; with each night that he lay wide awake aching to feel her, smell her, kiss her, hold her, bury himself inside her...so grew his detachment.

He numbed himself to the pain, because it had grown so intense that it was becoming unbearable. His heart ached without her to soothe it, his skin grew cold without her to warm it with her touch, his humor all but disappeared because he had nothing to be happy about.

Cyrus watched, mutely for the most part, as his President became a hardened shell of his former self. He felt guilt mingled with righteous anger churning inside him every time he saw the dead look in Fitz's eyes and heard the flat, emotionless tone coating the man's words. Fitz may as well have stayed in a coma, for all the fucks he gave without Olivia at his side.

He finally, truly had to admit to himself after witnessing this horrendous transformation...that Olivia Pope was this man's _world_. She was his reason for being. Without her, he was lost. He was a ghost. Healthy as an ox, sharp as a tack...but utterly defeated emotionally by her absence.

Mellie would have a better chance of hearing the devil fart in hell than she would of getting her husband back.

The morning before they were to leave for Stockholm (after the worst of his near-constant sleepless nights when he'd called and discovered that Olivia's number had been disconnected), Fitz stalked into Cyrus's office and stood fuming in front of his desk. Cyrus was on the phone, but when he saw the raging sea of determination in the President's eyes, he hung up and stood at attention.

They didn't speak.

Fitz simply stood there, gazing at Cyrus with fire and brimstone in his expression. He had dark circles forming under his eyes from lack of sleep. His misery had erased all traces of acquiescence. His improved physical strength was never more apparent and intimidating than at that moment.

And Cyrus knew, in his guts, that Fitz was _going to see Olivia Pope_ if he had to bomb a church to get it done. The expression on the taller man's face said plainly: _"we can do this the easy way or the hard way...and __**I relish the thought**__ of you calling my bluff."_

Sighing, defeated, Cyrus nodded slowly and reached for his phone. Fitz waited, his eyes molten gray lava, as his chief of staff accessed a secure line directly to the Secret Service. "Arrange for Olivia Pope to be brought to Stockholm. Call me when it's done."

Fitz turned on his heel and strode rigidly out of the office.

* * *

Everything up until the moment he lay eyes on Olivia waiting for him in that booth was a blur.

He was consumed with thoughts of her. Good thoughts this time. Warm thoughts. Hot, breathless, slick, arousing thoughts. Thoughts that made him burn deep inside.

His blood was beginning to thaw. His muscles were starting to tingle with the phantom sensation of holding her tight. His eyes began to liven up, and faint traces of the old Fitz could be found in them once more.

He half-listened as he was briefed on the itinerary for their four day stay at the Grand. Mellie kissed him on the cheek in front of the steps leading up to Air Force One, but he didn't feel it. He barely blinked when she told him to have a safe trip and that she loved him. He didn't notice that she was trying, _trying hard_, to bring him back to her.

All he knew was Olivia.

_I'm going to see her again...soon..._

What followed was the longest journey he'd ever been on. He became increasingly more restless with each passing hour. Though everyone regarded him with relieved surprise when he actually laughed at a joke during a Cabinet meeting as they were soaring over the Atlantic, they didn't understand that his smile was really for her. She was coming. They were bringing her to him. Soon she would really be there, and she would really be his again.

He was forced to be in the present when he arrived. Initial greetings were exchanged between all parties involved. He was briefed on the secure location of Kinyaze and the state of their military outposts in the still-volatile regions where they were hoping to negotiate a cease fire. Press room nonsense, photo ops, dinner with the Sudanese president, a conference call with the Vice President to discuss a potential dustup in the House over a rumored anti-abortion bill, its political implications, etc. etc. etc...

And then Cyrus pulled him aside at 10:32pm.

"She's here. I reserved room 1037. There's a passage we can use to get you there and back without interference."

Fitz had to take a moment before responding. He stared at Cyrus's dutiful, expectant expression. He was filled to the point of bursting with anticipation, longing, happiness and relief. He could feel himself finally, finally starting to wake up. His days of sleepwalking through life were about to come to an end. He was determined, once he could convince her to come back to him, never to let her go.

Ever again.

All this passed between the two men in a moment of silence. Cyrus nodded quickly and squeezed Fitz's elbow. "I'll end this briefing early, make up some excuse? You can beat her there, she's checking in now."

Fitz swallowed hard and forced himself to be patient. "No. The Cadier, eleven sharp. Make sure we can be alone."

"Yes sir..." Cyrus looked surprised that Fitz hadn't wanted to go straight to her room, but he obediently turned and left to carry out his orders.

* * *

Just like the trip on Air Force One (perhaps more so because he was _so close now_), the elevator ride down to the hotel lobby was agony.

He got off, his focus like a laser, and made his way to the bar with Tom and Hal flanking him. He was forced to wait near the coat check room while Hal made sure the Cadier was being cleared. He counted every second of those five and a half minutes. When that was finally over, they proceeded to enter the bar and Fitz felt as though he would go mad with the need to...

...he rounded the corner on Hal's heels and there she was.

Sitting there, waiting for him. Her face as perfect and soul-stirringly beautiful as he remembered.

Her eyes found his, and the sight of her brought emotion crashing down on him, swallowing him whole. He was struck so hard with how much he missed her that it forced him to gasp quietly. He stiffened, determined to contain himself and be patient. He needed to maintain composure.

It wouldn't do for him to act on what he really wanted more than anything right now-to charge over to that table, scoop her sexy ass up and carry her off to the first available place away from prying eyes, so that he could rip her clothes off and _make her understand_ what she had done to him when she left.

But he could not do that, not yet. First they needed to get something straight. And to keep himself from being distracted by the volcanic lust coursing through his entire body right now, he needed for them to be out in the open where people could see. He had the room cleared to give them as much privacy as possible, but having Tom, Hal, Brady and Rhodes around ensured that he would not waver from the objective he'd set for himself. He hoped.

Fitz very carefully made his way towards her, staring her down with every step. He could see the uncertainty in her large, round eyes. The way her lips parted slightly as she took in the sight of him made his loins practically quake with desire, but he kept his cool. When he reached her he undid his jacket at the waist and slid into the booth opposite her.

He paused, his eyes drinking her in under the elegant glow of the meticulously fine-tuned bar lighting.

The first thing, the only thing, he could think to say without his heart dropping out of his mouth was:

"Hi."


	3. Chapter 3

_**Wake Up, Mr. President**_

**Three: You almost killed me.**

Olivia had to swallow, her eyelids fluttering, before she could answer him.

His voice...thick with more emotion than that word was meant to carry...stirred something within her so deeply that speech was nigh impossible for at least five seconds.

He stared at her, so close to her that she could smell his cologne. _His cologne_...and those dark, stone-grey eyes pinning her to the spot.

"Hi, Fitz..." she whispered.

His chest rose and fell sharply at the sound of his name. He offered her a nakedly vulnerable smile, the first show of his true state of mind since he walked in. He opened his mouth and closed it again, flexing his jaw with hesitation. When he spoke next she could tell that it was something he hadn't intended to say right here, right now, but maybe he couldn't hold it in any longer.

"Liv...you broke my heart."

She looked away, down at her hands. "Fitz, it was over between us. We both agreed to walk aw-"

"You weren't there when I woke up."

She looked up sharply at his suddenly accusatory tone. Her mouth dropped open in shock as she read how betrayed and hurt he felt all over his face.

"I looked for you. I waited for you. I've spent every goddamn day since I woke up practically screaming for you in my head and you just..." Fitz shrugged, his eyes glistening, "...you just disappeared. Do you have _any idea_ how much that...?" He stopped, unable to finish.

Olivia's throat tightened and she longed to reach for him, but she sat up straighter instead and shook her head once, attempting to regain her composure. "You said you were going to let me go, Fitz."

"Did you even care?" He ignored her statement.

"What?" She retorted in disbelief. He did _not_ just ask her if she cared that he got shot!

"_Did_ you?"

Olivia felt righteous anger rise to boiling point within her and she leaned forward, her eyes narrowing to slits.

"I was devastated. I felt like my guts had been ripped out. I watched them...wheel you into the emergency room with a _bullet in your head_ a-and blood everywhere-!" She hissed, tears threatening to overcome her. His brow furrowed and he listened, his intensity somewhat deflated and replaced by sorrowful, stunned silence. "I didn't know if you would live another second let _alone_-!"

Olivia took a deep breath and continued, her own anger and hurt taking her over.

"But I had to _work_, Fitz. _Someone_ had to. You were shot. You are the President of the United States! As much as I wanted to fall to pieces and be at your side every waking moment...you weren't mine to mourn!

"The country was shocked senseless, the White House was in chaos, Sally Langston was salivating at the Oval Office door, pronouncing you dead before you'd even gotten out of surgery, Cyrus was on the brink of a nervous breakdown and _MELLIE_-!"

She began to sob, and Fitz got up without hesitation. He rounded the booth and pulled her from her seat, wrapping his arms around her. She resisted, hitting him on the arms and pushing against his chest, shaking her head as hot tears streamed down her soft cheeks.

"No...you selfish bastard! You almost died...I was alone and you were...!" she lapsed into moans of protest, but he was a brick wall. He held her tightly, too strong and too big for her to fight him off. The sheer power radiating through him as he held her against him made her forget her tears and whimper up at him longingly.

He pressed his mouth to hers, kissing her hungrily as he lifted her off her feet.

She didn't notice Hal discreetly close the curtain that separated the private booths from the rest of the dining area. She didn't care that her phone slipped from her hand and fell to the floor. All she knew, all that existed, was Fitz.

He pressed himself into her so that she could feel every inch of his arousal.

Grabbing her ass with both hands and hoisting her so he could carry her, he walked with her until they hit a mirrored wall between their booth and another. His tongue assaulted hers as he attempted to taste every inch of her mouth, the hunger rumbling in his chest and straining to break through the restrictive fabric of his suit jacket.

Olivia felt so lost in him, so relieved to have him holding her again, that she found herself willing to do anything he asked right now. Fitz let a tortured moan escape him as he kissed her neck, the tears on her cheeks, her mouth, her collarbone, her earlobe, and a blazing trail down to the cleft between her breasts through the fabric of her blouse.

He continued to grind himself into her slowly, burying his face in her neck. She wanted nothing more than for him to fuck her brains out right there against the mirror wall, but she sensed that he was hesitating. Shuddering slightly, Olivia gently pulled his head back and looked into his eyes. He was crying too. The tears didn't fall-they sat like still pools in his eyes. Glistening gray stone.

All the anger, hurt, lust, longing, pain and confusion from the past six months passed wordlessly between them as they stared at each other.

And she _knew_. She knew that she could never walk away from this man again. His eyes pleaded with her; he practically begged her with each ragged breath..._please...please don't leave me, ever again._

And she shook her head slowly._ I won't...ever._

Then he was moving with nearly frantic urgency, and he had pulled her panties off from under her skirt in one blindingly fast motion. She reached down and awkwardly helped him undo his pants as he kept her afloat with one strong arm. When he finally broke free, hard and ready, Oliva maneuvered her hips so that she was exposed to him. He drank her in, his eyes raking over her exposed sex like a hungry wolf eyeing its prey.

And then he thrust into her-_hard_.

She bit down on his shoulder to keep from screaming in ecstasy. Fitz pounded into her over and over and over again, growling and grunting and not giving a flying fuck who could hear. He tried with each thrust to go deeper and deeper, to disappear inside her if he could. And Olivia welcomed it. Kissed his face and ran her fingers through his hair. Threw her head back against the mirror wall and relished every single thrust of his girth into her, stroking her to her core, igniting the delicious white heat that signaled an explosion on the horizon.

"Olivia..." he groaned, his voice coated with longing. "_Goddamn it_, Livvy...you almost killed me!"

He kept on tirelessly until she felt her whole body seized in the grip of her orgasm. She cried out weakly and he followed suit, emptying himself inside her with blinding force. They panted against each other until he finally calmed down and loosened his grip on her body.

He did not move to detach himself from her right away. Instead he lifted his head and angled his mouth to her ear.

His deep, rich voice commanded softly: "Come upstairs with me. Now."

She knew from his tone that he wasn't finished with her yet. Arousal stirred to life inside her again, and she burned inside with the knowledge that they were done talking for now. They would spend the rest of the night exercising the damage from the past six months in the only way that felt right.

The President was finally, truly awake. And he was going to fuck Olivia Pope senseless until sunrise.

* * *

_Hope you enjoyed this. it was certainly ALOT OF FUN to write. More to come...?_


	4. Chapter 4

_**Wake Up, Mr. President**_

**Four: Nothing but the taste of you.**

"I was forced to endure a week of speech therapy..." Fitz said softly, out of the blue, nuzzling his nose against her neck.

"Oh, poor baby." Came her deadpan response. She felt him chuckle, and a push of warm breath caressed her hair.

"Hey, were you there? They were treating me like a five year old. It was humiliating; not to mention a waste of my time. By the end of it I wanted to strangle Dr. Patel..." Fitz complained throatily as he kissed her just under her earlobe.

Olivia rolled her eyes at his attempt at being funny. Of course she knew it was actually _him_ being the difficult one, wanting to eschew standard medical procedure and get back to work. Petulant and restless, her stubborn Fitz.

But she also knew that he was trying to tell her just how much more difficult an ordeal his recovery had been without her. She felt a pang of guilt when she thought of Mellie conniving him, Cy pressuring him, Langston doubting him and the press stalking him-all without her at his side.

Olivia wouldn't have made him sit through a week of speech therapy. She would have looked him in the eyes, coached him through a strategy they created together, stood by his side and made him feel strong; capable. That's what he really needed. A partner. Not a babysitter.

Fitz was an extraordinary man. A man meant to do great things. But as such, he was subject to people projecting their own insecurities and ambitions on him, asking him to act or not act because it's what they would do in his position. But they could never reach his position. So they used him. Or tried to.

Olivia learned a long time ago that Fitz could do anything, all he needed was someone to see the potential in him and ignite it in the right way. Nine times out of ten since they met, she was the only one who could. Because she was the only one he allowed close enough.

But she hadn't been there. So, he went to speech therapy.

She was forced out of her train of thought when she felt him becoming aroused, yet again. He circled his arms tighter around her, rubbing the length of his body against hers. In a feeble attempt to distract him, she kept talking.

"Dr. Patel is the best in her field. I think you were just _acting_ like a five year old, and did you really think Sally Langston would relinquish control of the Oval without scrutinizing every move you...ohhh..."

She gave a sort of half sigh, half moan as he began to grind himself into her backside more insistently, his face buried somewhere in her hair at the back of her neck.

Warm, wanton sensations had already begun to awaken again, much to her amazement. They'd already made love four times. She was exhausted. He _should've_ been, but she was beginning to really believe he was utterly insatiable.

"_Shutupancom'ere._" He muttered roughly against her neck, nudging her bottom with his groin again. This time she could most definitely tell that he was fully erect. She bit her lip, closing her eyes. She wanted to push him away. She wanted to pull him on top of her. She wanted to sleep. She wanted him inside her. Damn him.

"Fitz..." she whispered in weak protest.

"You owe me." Fitz's hand was snaking down her belly to the parting below her pelvis. "Mmmm...six months, Liv."

Olivia gasped as his fingers found her center and he dipped two inside possessively.

"Six months I've thought of nothing but the taste of you, my sweet baby..."

_Oh, god._ She couldn't help grinding herself into his hand as he slowly pumped his strong, thick fingers in and out of her already sopping wet center. Their bodies became molded to one another, her smaller frame perfectly cupped by his larger one as he held her close. She felt his manhood sliding hot and strong between her legs, then stopping just below where his fingers were buried inside.

They breathed in unison. His breathing quickened in step with hers, casting warm gusts through her hair with each thrust of his fingers, and each tiny moan from her.

Fitz began to slide his thumb over her throbbing clitoris rhythmically, and he kept it up along with his powerful, deep thrusting until she gave an involuntary shudder as a delicious orgasm swept through her. She felt his lips at her ear again; heard his low voice:

"_God I need to be inside you._ Please, Liv."

She was overwhelmed with the feel of his hand, his manhood, his arms, the sound of his voice, his hot breath in her hair...she simply nodded, eyes shut tight. Lost in a sea of anticipation, sensation and body heat, she was slightly disappointed when he pulled his fingers from her.

He paused, putting one in his mouth.

Olivia looked up to see him gazing down at her with half-lidded eyes, his finger sliding from between his wet lips slowly. He licked his lips as if to say _you're ready for me_. Then he smirked wickedly, not taking his dark eyes off of hers as he grabbed her by the hips. With her backside still propped against his front, he maneuvered them both so that he could gain better access_...and oh sweet Jesus..._

Fitz slid himself inside of her easily, and all she could do was turn and bite the pillow. He paused again just to tease her, and the second thrust came, harder. Followed by another, much harder. And another. And another. And on and on he slammed into her, sending delicious explosions of pleasure rocketing through her with each impact.

And she didn't begrudge him his indulgence tonight, because she'd been fantasizing about them too, for six months. Night after night, despite how she tried not to, she would slip into a haze of longing...thinking about Fitz. Thinking about his strong hands, his deep voice, his eyes the color of some river-worn stone somewhere deep in the wilderness he loved so much.

Thinking about the feel of his heavy body sliding against hers, his heartbeat, his muscular arms closing around her, the way he was able to lift her and move her like she was made of feathers.

She'd felt so disconnected from him for so long now. Tonight, she wanted him as close as she could get him, as deep inside as he could go, as eager and hungry for her as he pleased.

Her brilliant, kind, stubborn president. Never, until tonight, had Olivia felt so certain that Fitz was hers. And never was she more frightened of that belief.

"Liv...fuck." He grunted as he came, and she reached an arm up to hold his head from behind. He enclosed her in a death grip until his orgasm passed and he gradually calmed down, breathing hard. After a moment, when his breathing was normal again, he leaned over to look at her face.

She blinked at him lethargically, and whispered: "You're wearing me out, mister."

He looked somewhat contrite. Also somewhat pleased with himself.

"Shit I'm sorry. I just can't...stop myself."

The apologetic (yet satisfied) look in his eyes, the admission that he couldn't seem to curb his appetite for her, was all at once sexy and tender. Olivia shook her head and reached up to take his face gently in her hands. He allowed her to kiss him on the cheeks, eyelids and lips.

"I'm not trying to stop you."

Fitz took hold of one of her hands, still resting on his cheek. "But you need to rest. Come on."

They rearranged themselves so that he was lying on his back and she nuzzled into the crook of his arm, her head resting against his chest. He again encircled her in a warm, firm embrace and exhaled deeply. Olivia got a fleeting glance at the clock. It was four in the morning. He probably only had an hour, maybe two, to sleep before he had to be back in his own room to get ready for a long day. She exhaled too and closed her eyes. She really was exhausted. It was starting to hit her fast, after a nearly ten hour flight, that emotional avalanche they unleashed on each other downstairs, and _all that fucking_.

"How long am I staying here?" She muttered, drifting off to the rhythm of Fitz's deep, steady breathing underneath her.

He didn't answer right away. She felt the rumble of his voice in his chest as he spoke next.

"How long would you like to?" She could hear the uncertainty in his voice. it brought her out of slumber mode. They still had things to talk about. Tonight's therapeutic excitations aside, their relationship-their future-was still undecided.

"I have to work, Fitz."

"Liv..." he groaned.

"What, you thought you could get me out here and just keep me locked away in this hotel room like some concubine?" She was awake again, and annoyed. She tried to rise from his arms to glare at him, but he forced her back down again with an exasperated sigh.

"Olivia, don't be an asshole. Of course not."

"Then what?" She demanded, her body tensing up despite his firm grip on her.

"I don't know, okay? I just needed to...I couldn't take another day without you. I was desperate and angry and I acted without thinking, alright? You know that I want you here. For as long as it takes."

"As long as _what_ takes?'

"As long as it takes for you to realize that I'm not letting you leave me again, now shut up and go to sleep. Please, Liv."

He stopped talking and she relaxed a little, recognizing the fatigue in his voice. She was ruining this, but it wasn't like these issues were fresh. It seemed like they never got past them, and they would never get past them, because he was the president and she was just his former fixer. He always bristled when she brought up words like mistress, concubine, secret girlfriend.

_What else could she be_, pacing around a lavish suite in Stockholm waiting for him to be free from running the country so they could fuck?

She was descending into sadness and disappointment, as all of these things began to resurface in her mind. She could tell he sensed her unease, because his grip on her tightened, and he his whole body seemed to be pleading with her to just let it rest, for tonight.

She looked at the clock again.

Eight minutes past three in the morning.

She could let it go for an hour and fifty-two minutes. Olivia snuggled into him again, and he visibly, palpably relaxed. She knew that if she looked at his face, she would see relief. It wasn't that Olivia wanted to go through the hell of trying to sever their connection for good again. She knew that she might not survive it a second time. Neither would he.

_What the hell are we going to do?_ she asked herself, her heart feeling heavy.

Fitz stroked her back with his hand, whispering into to her hair: _"Sleep, sweet baby..."_

Olivia finally relented, and let sleep find her in his arms.

* * *

THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR THAT AMAZING RESPONSE!

Hope you enjoyed this. I'm working on the first four times (ahem, oh yes) from fITZ'S POV. Then we'll move on into the following days as Fitz and Olvia try to figure out just what the fuck they're going to do to be together.

More to come! Definitely.


	5. Chapter 5

_AN: Hey guys, so sorry for the long period between updates. This was always the hardest part about writing ff-knowing that you're keeping your readers waiting and not being able to write as fast (or as often) as you'd like! _

_I'm actually not finished with this "chapter" yet, but I decided to spare you guys more waiting and post it in two parts. Here is part one. It's pretty intense if I do say so myself...but Part 2 is even MORE INTENSE. Hope you're ready, dudes. Let me know what you think!_

* * *

**_Wake Up, Mister President_**

**Five (Part 1): I won't stop until you beg me.**

Olivia seemed embarrassed.

Her milk chocolate skin took on a pinkish glow and she avoided eye contact with everyone, walking stiffly, her eyes to the floor.

He couldn't blame her. They'd just had desperately hot sex against a mirror in a swanky Swedish hotel bar, well within earshot of four Secret Servicemen. Two of which were Tom and Hal...men Olivia had taken the time to get to know. They had a more affable rapport with her than almost anyone.

And he was carrying her panties in his pocket.

Fitz felt a pang of regret that warred mightily with a swell of desire.

He hadn't intended to attack her that way. But he couldn't help himself. All his life, anger and longing were always the hardest emotions for him to master. They made him impulsive on their own, but _combined_...he didn't stand a chance around Olivia.

He'd _wanted_ to talk to her first, explain to her that he was going to really try to make this work, no bullshit. No fear. No turning back. He wanted to negotiate. He wanted to devise a plan for how they could survive; how they could make it through all this, _together_.

He was just as sick of all the sneaking around, lying, guilt and fear as she was. He _needed_ to make her see that.

But of course...she packed a serious wallop. He'd been fooling himself about how seeing her again would affect him. Everything about her quickened his heartbeat: every emotion on her face, shift of light in her eyes, every word or sigh from her lips...it was nuts. After so long of keeping himself numb and cold for the loss of her, Olivia Pope walked back into his life and obliterated his self control.

And it was far from over. The talking would definitely have to wait.

Fitz was full to the brim with intense, restless need. He held himself rigidly upright, flanked on all sides by his men as he followed them through a back passageway and up several flights of stairs, holding Olivia's hand. Once or twice he allowed her to move up ahead of him, and found himself pulling her bodily into him from behind—to smell her hair, revel in her slight tremble (she was as eager to get up to her room as he was, he could tell).

The one time they made eye contact, her expression was slightly forbidding—darting quickly to the four silent men escorting them as if to say _not here, Fitz, please._

He knew she was absolutely right. He also knew that if he couldn't touch every inch of her soon, he would lose what little scrap of self-control he possessed. He dutifully ceased his invasion of her personal space (tucking his hands into his pockets, where his right hand closed around her still-damp panties with satisfaction), focusing instead on the stairs under his feet and the breathing of the men around them.

His mind wandered...and he began to fixate on one desire. He wanted to taste her.

No…more than that. He wanted to _devour_ her. He wanted to wrap his mouth around her sex and indulge himself without restraint for as long as she would let him. Until she couldn't take any more. Until she pulled his hair. Until she hit him with her fists. Until she bucked and screamed like a wild thing. He wanted to feel her whole body quake in ecstasy against his face. And even then, once she was coming in his mouth, he probably wouldn't be satisfied.

Fitz was fully awake now, and he was _monstrously_ hungry for Olivia Pope.

* * *

They were finally on Olivia's floor. Tom and Hal escorted them to her room while Rhodes and Brady stayed behind to secure the hall.

They waited for the two former men to make a routine security sweep of the room first.

"Goodnight sir, Ms. Pope." Tom nodded solemnly, avoiding eye contact as Olivia entered the room first, followed by Fitz.

"Cyrus has my wakeup call," Fitz murmured, far too distracted by his need to be inside that room to give them explicit instructions. He frankly didn't care if they stayed in the hall or went away for the night. He knew that he had responsibilities tomorrow, and days of negotiations to look forward to. But right now…all he looked forward to was Olivia.

He followed her inside—she seemed distracted, pausing to look around the room as if she didn't recognize it. She clutched her cell phone and her purse in her hands, her back to him, breathing.

Fitz closed the door behind him and leaned against it. At first he stared at her back, hesitating. He didn't want to just attack her again—her state of mind seemed fragile. The unleashing of six months of pent up emotion was a heady thing. He gave her a few breaths to gather her wits.

Finally, she turned around.

Her large, gorgeous eyes latched onto his.

"Fitz," she shook her head; her lips pursed slightly. "I…"

"Hush."

He walked towards her, taking her hands and gently pushing them down until she let go of her things. They dropped to the floor with a muffled thud.

Fitz wrapped his arms around her petit waste and pulled her into him. He relished the feel of her body against his, and he in turn let her feel how aroused he was.

Her breathing was beginning to deepen as her mouth parted and her eyelids slipped down to partially hide her eyes. She looked up at him almost demurely through her lashes, more vulnerable and responsive to him than ever he'd seen her.

Olivia Pope, the Gladiator in heels was gone, replaced by a woman giving herself to her lover. Nothing excited and aroused Fitz more.

Of course, he _loved_ her as a fiercely intelligent, shark of a political player. He loved when she put him in his place, told him what was what and made miracles happen from seemingly out of nowhere. Sometimes it actually made him hard, witnessing her work her magic.

But tonight, he wanted her soft. Pliant. Breathless. Wet. Submissive.

He'd suffered through too many sleepless nights without her.

He would be damned if he let this one go to waste.

Behind closed doors, in the dark, in his arms…those were some of the only times she willingly gave him control without question. He planned to take full advantage.

Fitz leaned in and kissed Olivia deeply. She was practically trembling with desire, and he fed off of her energy, pressing her into his hardness.

"I'm gonna fuck you, Olivia." He whispered roughly as he began to disrobe her. All traces of presidential propriety were absent now, replaced by carnal lust.

"…all night…"

Their faces were centimeters apart, his lips brushing against hers as he spoke. She was wide-eyed and breathless, watching him mutely as he unbuttoned her blouse and removed it. He moved on to her skirt, tossing the silky blouse in the general direction of a chase lounge near the fireplace.

"…slow at first…"

He let his lips brush against her skin as he breathed a slow, burning trail down her neck, between her breasts, and over her stomach. He unzipped her skirt and tugged it down, revealing the black, silky thigh-high stockings beneath. They clung to her flesh exquisitely. And her sex was deliciously exposed to him; her underwear still tucked away in his pocket.

"…then _hard_…"

She whimpered when he growled the word against her hip, nibbling her there with a pinch of his teeth.

Moved on to kiss her thigh at the line where the fabric of her stockings and her warm skin touched. He continued to administer soft kisses along her thighs and all around, with the exception of the one place she probably felt the most intense need—teasing her; holding her in place with firm hands at her hips. He spoke as he kissed her, knowing how the sensation of his hot breath against her skin was driving her crazy.

"But first I want to taste you." Kiss. Kiss. "For as long as you can stand it." Kiss. Kiss.

A glance upward revealed that her mouth was hanging open; her head thrown back, her eyes squeezed shut as she concentrated on his words and his touch.

He growled: " And I won't stop until you beg me." Kiss. Kiss.

Olivia let out a sexy _"ohh…"_ and shifted her weight so that her right thigh brushed against his face. A sign that she was definitely ready for him. Right now.

But he was determined to take his time.

"_Hold still, baby._" His deep voice rumbled against her skin.

She gasped impatiently but obediently remained still in his grasp. To tease her even further, he paused, breathing on her, looking up at her intensely.

She finally looked down at him; read the hunger in his eyes.

She gave him a tiny nod of acquiescence. It was all he needed.

Fitz concentrated now on her warm, moist center. He could smell her arousal—it caressed his nostrils subtly. And how perfectly _Olivia_ it was. He indulged in her unique natural scent for a small moment, inhaling deeply before lifting her left leg over his shoulder and dipping his tongue inside her soft folds.

She was hot and wet and delectable.

Olivia immediately latched both sets of fingers into his hair, causing him to growl and press her closer to his face. He buried his tongue as deep as it would go and sucked. Olivia let out a noise so arousing that he did it again, and again. Each time her fingers tightened their hold on him—the slight twinge of pain he felt at having his hair involuntarily tugged on was making him hard as a brick.

He was still fully clothed, his manhood straining painfully against his slacks. But he concentrated on her, determined to drive her to orgasm as many times as he possibly could tonight. Starting right now, on his knees; his face buried in her sex; her hands torturing his hair.

Fitz opened his mouth wider for more access, made his tongue rigid, and began to draw shapes against her throbbing clit. Slowly. Repeatedly. Then faster. Then slow again. And all over again in a voracious, never-ending rhythm.

Olivia's knees buckled but he held her firmly by the thigh and hip, continuing his assault on her clitoris without mercy. She was moaning louder and louder—her grip on him getting tighter and tighter—as he found a shape that seemed to affect her much more intensely than the others. He stuck to it, repeating it over and over until his tongue felt as though it would break. Still, he was determined to make her…

_"Ohhh fuck, F-F-Fitz!"_ She cried out as her whole body shuddered with the attack of her orgasm. Fitz held her close as she trembled and gasped, falling over so that her arms ran the length of his back and her chin touched the crown of his head.

There was no time to rest. He was far from sated.

* * *

_**Hope this makes up for my late update! Part 2 coming ASAP, promise. Please let me know what you think, **__**I'm**__** monstrously hungry for reviews!**_


	6. Chapter 6

**_Wake Up, Mister President_**

**Six (Part 2): You've ruined me.**

Without waiting for her to recover completely, Fitz stood and scooped her up in his strong arms. She simply clung to him, beads of sweat sprouting at her temples and along her spine. He buried his nose in her hair, inhaling her scent. _God, he missed her so much._

He delivered her in three unhurried strides to the bed.

Olivia lay down on her back as Fitz undressed himself, gazing down at her with lustful determination as he did so. He was so hard by now that she inhaled in slight surprise as he stripped off his underwear, their last obstacle.

Then he stood before her, his chest rising and falling, eyeing her masterfully, debating where he wanted to begin.

Olivia waited, her intuition in all things making her compliant and patient. He was in charge right now.

She simply watched him, languid from his previous ministrations. His eyes took in her shapely body under the perfect lighting that seemed to permeate the décor in this hotel.

She was still wearing those silky-smooth black thigh highs and black, suede pumps. She looked fucking amazing nestled into the plush, white bedcovers. And she _knew_ that the mere sight her turned him on something fierce. He could see a wicked gleam developing in her eyes as she lay there, rubbing her thighs together with faux coquettishness.

He knew then that she had fully recovered from her orgasm. Good. That was nothing compared to what he was going to put her through now.

Fitz smirked, provoked by that look in her eyes.

_Goddamn, _this woman…

He made up his mind about what he wanted. It was something they had only done once. And the thought of it made him burn with anticipation.

The fact that they never got the opportunity to do it again served as an unexpected reminder of their impossible situation. But he didn't dwell on that, choosing instead to remain in the moment.

Stepping up to the bed, Fitz reached out and grasped her by the ankle. He removed one black pump and set it aside on the bed, upright. Her eyes lingered on the shoe for a moment, curiosity blooming in them. But when he removed her stocking and took hold of one of her delicate wrists, comprehension replaced curiosity—and then fiery excitement eviscerated them both.

Their eyes were practically glued to each other's as he reached over her body to bring both hands above her head and tie them securely with the stocking.

Olivia's full lips parted and she sighed wantonly as Fitz slipped her shoe back on her foot and knelt to grab his dark blue tie from the floor.

Her perfect breasts rose and fell deeply as he slowly ran the larger end of the soft garment along her naked thigh, stomach, chest and neck.

Then he reached down and slid an arm underneath her, lifting her from the bed so that she was sitting upright. She held her arms above her head still, and he knew it was because he hadn't issued any command to reposition them. _Good girl_, he thought to himself as he gently secured his necktie around her eyes, blindfolding her.

Fitz stepped back and observed his work. He _very much_ liked what he saw.

Olivia…wearing only one silky black stocking and black heels…her wrists tied, arms above her head…her eyes masked by the tie Fitz wore to a security briefing with the Sudanese President today.

He took his time making his way closer to her again. Then he knelt before her. She was breathing deeply, her nerves on fire, her whole body an antenna for sensation. Fitz only had to decide what he would allow her to feel first.

He decided to make sure she could sense him near her, leaning in close but not quite touching. He lingered here, not touching, until she bit her bottom lip, her brow creasing above the blindfold. Fitz smiled darkly to himself. She was only fueling his arousal, with every move she made. He was hard enough to break her if he so desired.

Fitz leaned in, finally touching her legs, and exhaled on the skin of her chest. Her back straightened and she gasped. He did this several more times, and before she could fully recover he licked her right nipple, blowing on it gently so that it sprouted to attention beneath his lips.

He did the same with her left, and kept up a soft breeze on them both in turn for a moment.

She was practically panting for him. He took her breast in his mouth, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her into him. He let his tongue swirl around and around before biting gently. "Oh!" she moaned.

Fitz leaned up and kissed her on the lips. He knew that the sensation was amplified by the fact that she couldn't see. It turned him on even more. The time was rapidly approaching where he wouldn't be able to take anymore, and he would need to be inside her. But it wasn't here yet.

First, he was hungry again.

"Lay back, sweet baby."

She did as she was told.

Fitz climbed onto the bed, hovering over her, supported by his left forearm. He reached up to make sure that her bound hands were above her head again. No hair tugging this time. He used his free arm to scoot them up so that she could grab the bedpost if she needed. And, he was confident, she would.

He kissed her on the lips again indulgently, forcing her mouth open and dancing his tongue around hers passionately.

Then he moved downward. Kissing, sucking, nibbling at her flesh as he went. She was squirming beneath him, her smooth warm skin sliding against his as he worked. "Mmmmm…" he sighed deeply as he finally reached his destination. Fitz, so eager to claim his prize, pushed Olivia's legs apart and shifted her hips upward so that her back arched and her sex was fully exposed to him.

Gorgeous and ripe, and _all his_.

He wrapped his hands around her thighs and dove in. Delicious…she tasted _so good_. He glanced up every now and then to watch her struggling with her pleasure, her breasts two dark round peaks in a sea of chocolate skin, her bound hands gripping the bedpost for dear life. He repeated his earlier shapes, lapping up her juices while stimulating her clitoris relentlessly. He could feel her thighs beginning to quiver as she neared orgasm, but he had other plans for that. _Not yet, you don't, _he thought wickedly_._ With one last, slow lap of his tongue he emerged from between her legs. She let out a disappointed moan but he ignored it.

He wanted inside now. Fitz sat up on his haunches and pulled her by her hips, downward until his manhood was at her opening. He paused for only a moment, watching her (sightless and quivering with desire) before driving himself into her.

She grunted as he went in, and his back bowed over with the sensation of her hot sex sliding slick and tight onto his shaft. Oh god, yes…

Fitz wanted to go full throttle immediately but he forced himself to be patient, take his time. He thrust against her, sinking deeper, pulling back again. And deeper, and back. Deeper, and back again. And she felt tighter and hotter with each thrust, and he closed his eyes, gripped her flesh. And she moaned, and arched her back, and squeezed herself around him like a glove, tugging his head with her inner walls. He almost buckled then, but he pressed on.

Now faster. Harder. "Ooh, oh, god, Fitz!" she gritted her teeth, not seeing but feeling everything as intensely as he was.

"Tell me you missed this!" He commanded with a low growl.

"I missed-!"

"Tell me you love me, Olivia!"

Harder. Deeper. Faster. Anger, grief, longing, love…always love. He loved her with all his heart and soul and tonight she was his and he was hers and _fuck she felt so good inside!_

"I love you!" she cried as he slammed into her over and over again. Sweet, painful pressure was climbing up, up, up his shaft to his pelvis. She was trembling. He was sweating. Almost there…

"Tell me you'll never leave me again!"

"Fitz!"

"Say it!"

"Never…" Slam! "Leave you…" Slam! "Againnnugh!"

She came, tumbling like an avalanche around him. And it drove him over the edge completely. He let out a load groan and buckled over on top of her, thrusting his hips with the force of his orgasm until he couldn't do anything but let it wash over him in a rush of sensation.

They were all perspiration, limbs and breath. They lay there re-collecting themselves for a moment. Finally, when his head was clear again, he reached up and removed her blindfold. Tossing it to the side, he untied her hands. She immediately wrapped her arms around him and pulled him down to lie fully on top of her again. They kissed deeply, desperately.

When they came up for air, he buried his face in her neck—one of his favorite places. There was silence except for their breathing. And then:

"We're not finished yet…" he whispered.

* * *

She was straddling him, and he was buried to the hilt inside her.

His both hands were full of her pert, plump ass. Hers were gripping at his chest, fingers full of chest hair and muscle. Her head was tossed back, her hair dangling damply between her shoulder blades.

They were working on a steady rhythm, not too slow and not too fast.

He watched her as she rode him. Her beautifully arched neck. Her full lips. Her breasts. Her flat stomach. He savored the feel of her gorgeous bottom in his hands, squeezing every now and then. He lifted one hand and delivered a sharp, springy _spank_. She moaned and ground her hips downward so that he felt himself buried even deeper inside her. He spanked her again. She cried out _yes_. Again. She winced this time but nodded for him to continue.

Spank! _Fuck_ she mouthed. Spank! He could feel her nearing the edge. God he was following quickly behind.

It was Olivia's turn to growl and she picked up the pace. She began to fuck him, _hard_. Fitz squeezed his eyes shut and focused on what her body was doing to him, her ass bouncing up and down against his thighs, her inner walls tugging and clenching, her guttural breathing…yes…yes…Olivia, Olivia, Olivia...

He came hard inside her, rising up from his back and wrapping his arms around her. Eyes still shut, orgasm still assaulting him, Fitz found her mouth and kissed her like a starved man with his first meal in days.

He shuddered over and over again, squeezing her as close as he could get her.

"Shit…" was all he could breathe into her hair. "Shit…Olivia…"

They collapsed all over each other again, spent. And Fitz started laughing. He suddenly felt as though a ton of weight had been lifted—he was almost jubilant. Olivia beamed up at him from her position lying on his chest until his mad cackling subsided. He wrapped his arms around her, this time with warm affection, rubbing her back and shoulders lethargically.

"You've ruined me, Olivia Pope," he murmured, serious now. It was the truth. "You've completely…_ruined_ me. I can't…live…without you."

It hurt. That truth hurt him, in his guts. He _couldn't live_ without her. Nothing was more proof of that than the months of hell he'd just endured. Had he been alive? Barely. A bitter husk of his former self. Half a man. Not a real father. The world's sulkiest President.

The woman in his arms reversed all of that in one night. She was like a drug.

So essential to his entire being by now that the thought of losing her again made him feel as though he was falling from a very high place, into darkness. His smiled faded and he glared at the ceiling.

She was silent for so long he was afraid he'd frightened her with his intensity. Finally, after several minutes, she spoke:

"I can't live without you either."

He kissed the top of her head, relieved. Then he sighed and gave her a light smack on her bottom. "Well that's settled, then. You thirsty?"

"Very."

Two glasses of H20, coming up. Lord knows they'd earned it.


End file.
